


I'd like to walk around in your mind someday

by Pilandok



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Magical Realism, Morse Code, Romance, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, eventual smut????????, ghost!Judy, ghost!Judy au, i'll manage it somehow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26971267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pilandok/pseuds/Pilandok
Summary: “But by the end of the week, the presence had stopped making her nervous as much as it was annoying her.“Jen's husband is dead and she's being haunted by a ghost.Or, a reimagining of Jen’s grief.
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 77
Kudos: 66





	1. I would disturb your easy tranquility

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I did it. A non E-rated fic. Idk what this is, but don't worry 'bout it.
> 
> I didn't make it for this but I have ghost! playlist that has been on constant repeat as I write this. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2YVdeLXLgxXmNMoiJMWij1?si=CH5im-zhR3ysyYBAqwGpaw

Jen had always thought that being a girl scout didn’t prepare her for shit. How disappointed was she when she realized that girl scouting in the city would have more to do with friendship bracelets and whoring yourself out to get people to buy thin mints than it was about _survival._ Then again, she didn’t move to the wilderness like she had sworn her mom she would all those nights she refused to sleep. When she would just keep begging her mom to read _Where the Wild Things Are_ for her just one more time, _please_? She had signed Jen up for girl scouts because of that. Jen went obediently even though she soon found that she hated the uniform, didn’t see the use for them when she could just have a wolf suit and a nice crown.

But then she had moved to California, of all places, right at the heart of upper-middle class suburbia (Jen might have had to kill herself if her house was at the cul de sac— “dead end” was a too on the nose of a translation for her.) They may have more trees and grass than she’s used to seeing, but Brooklyn’s definitely more _jungle_.

So she didn’t think of it right away, not until she was cleaning up Henry’s room on a Sunday morning and found herself overdoing it. _Decluttering_ was her thing now (decluttering everything and everywhere, except the guest house and half of her closet and the corner of the garage where her dead husband’s things still sit pretty— it’s not clutter, she thought, it can’t be, not when she was the one that felt like absolute garbage.) She looked through Henry’s things piled up on his study table and found a slightly crumpled piece of paper sticking out of his notebook. The header had caught her attention, in a kind of conspicuous, serendipitous manner: _International Morse Code._

_Morse code._

Henry was in the middle of his own wilderness phase when Ted had died, which Jen could all but relate to, except he was so fully indulged by his dad who had eagerly set a tent up with him night after night in the backyard. Jen remembered how he would take the boys out to hike twice a month and how he would prepare s’mores for them far too often than what their pediatrician would probably recommend. Jen shut her eyes tight, fighting the wave of tears that often climbed up from her chest to her eyes when she remembered those moments of domesticity that highlighted how much her sons have lost.

She refocused her attention, placing a finger on the desk, tapping and scratching experimentally.

_.... . -. .-. -.-- Henry._

_-.-. .... .- .-. .-.. .. . Charlie._

_\- . -.. Ted._

Okay, she remembered as much from her scouting days, a skill she poured over significant effort on only to find that no one would exchange secret messages with her.

.... .. / .. -- / .--- . -. _Hi, I’m Jen._

_This could work_ , she thought and slid the paper out from between the notebook pages— it had seemed untouched for a while anyway. She finished tidying up Henry’s things and walked to her room, her hand busily tapping on her thigh.

\--. .... --- ... - _Ghost_.

Jen didn’t believe in ghosts. She could hardly even entertain the idea of life after death or god or even _vibes_. She wasn’t susceptible to all those hippie woo-woo bull crap that the younger moms in the neighborhood were into right now, the ones she reluctantly met in school functions. It was just something to make them feel youthful, to prove that they were spontaneous and could still have fun. That they go to the desert once a year to smoke some ayahuasca and see shapes in the sky or Jesus’ eyes or some shit. She wasn’t a drugs person, anyway. And it was all the same to her. She didn’t believe in energies or crystals or star signs. No higher powers or bigger pictures or grand schemes or karma. Or anything that might suggest that this was _supposed_ to happen to their family. She would be the first to fight anyone who said that something bad was ever meant to happen to her boys.

That night, however, Jen swore that she felt a _presence._

She had just finished crying in the bathroom after a particular heartbreaking thing that Henry said that no child should ever even think of when she felt a _shift_ in the air. She didn’t know how to else to describe it, but something was _different._ She looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if anything had changed. Maybe, Jen thought, that she had finally lost it, that her mind had snapped. But the sensation had felt so physical, just outside her skin.

She walked towards the bed and quickly determined that the source of the heaviness was the space by the windows of her room. It wasn’t particularly dark or foreboding, it was just, _there._ She dismissed it, predictably, that first night, had chalked it off to tiredness or lightheadedness (or depression — but you wouldn’t catch her saying that out loud.) It wasn’t like she was sleeping well anyway. What’s a little added discomfort to the impossible chasm that existed in her heart?

But by the end of the week, the presence had stopped making her nervous as much as it was _annoying_ her.

“Hello?” Jen called, fed up, looking pointedly at the window. There was no immediate response. Then Jen was about to laugh at herself for stupidly expecting something when there was a slight rustle of the curtains. Jen paused, taking a deep breath before asking, “Are you here?”

The curtains moved as if they were blown lightly by the wind but Jen knew that the windows were closed. That was enough to confirm it. Or at least for her to keep entertaining the idea.

Jen surprised herself with her own levelheadedness, not because a normal person might have jumped out of the bed and ran, but because she hadn’t completely snapped at whatever it was that was creeping on her night after night. But with the knowledge that the thing probably bore witness to her crying pathetically on the toilet for a week straight she just asked, “My husband died a month ago, do you think it’s okay to masturbate already?”

Jen wasn’t sure but the ghost must have tripped or something equally slapstick because the papers on the table near the window slid off and landed on the floor with a thud like someone had fallen on it. It was followed by a very enthusiastic shaking of the curtains.

_That must mean yes._

Jen couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her, one that bloomed into a full laugh, verging on hysterics. She was trying to process the plethora of things about spirituality that she was wrong about and really, just wondering _what the fuck is my life now?_

Then, quietly, “You’re not Ted, are you?”

Jen waited for the curtain to move, but then she realized that it wouldn’t really give her an answer. After a moment, she heard a small thud on the dresser. She looked over and found that the framed picture of her and Ted had been delicately (maybe even apologetically) put down.

_It’s not Ted._

Jen couldn’t help but feel relieved.

The night ended with Jen telling the ghost that she had been having difficulty falling asleep to which it replied with a soft rustle of the curtains, _I know._

“Could you— could you stay here until I fall asleep?” Jen asked when the clock read that it was just past three. “Like all the way asleep?”

Then the curtains closed and the bedside lamp turned off without Jen having lifted a finger.

By the next few nights, they had established a sort of communication system, rudimentary at best, mostly consisting Jen talking to the air and the ghost’s emphatic _Yeses_ and _Nos_ that were equated to the movement of the curtains and the creaking of the small table near it, respectively. Jen found herself easily talking to the ghost about everything she never did: about Ted and the boys and her surgery and even sometimes, her mom. There were nights she would ask questions she never let herself ask.

“Do you think I’m a good person?”

The curtains moved, _yes_.

“You don’t know that.”

The curtains started rattling against the rod.

“Okay, fine, Jesus. Don’t break my curtains, Casper.” Jen smirked, then turned on her side to look at where she imagined the ghost to be standing. “Hey, tell me. Is god real?”

The response was a very pointed silence.

It was hard to ask questions but Jen managed to find out that the ghost was a woman around her age and that she didn’t exactly remember how she had died. She had a fiancé and lived in California all her life. And she had always believed in life after death and all that bull crap but Jen figured that she can’t really dismiss any of that now.

That Sunday afternoon, Jen placed the Morse code sheet on the table near the curtain. She knew that the ghost wouldn’t be there, Jen could only ever feel her at night and in the morning (as if to say that, yes she did stay with her as she slept, like she had promised.) Jen had no idea where she wanders off to in the afternoon. Maybe she had appointments with other widows in Laguna— when Jen joked about this, the table creaked loudly, a resounding _no._

Jen looked at the sheet again, her eyes tracing the dots and dashes and their equivalent letters, and haphazardly placed some papers over it, leaving half of it still in plain sight. She felt a little sheepish, wondering if it was possible to feel too eager about talking to a spirit, as if there was an etiquette to follow. But hey, at least she hadn’t broken out the Ouija board.

(And if it didn’t work, then maybe she could blame it on the ghost not seeing it, and not on the fact that deep down, Jen still worried that she had completely imagined her. That she had gone off the deep end and had been merely talking to herself this whole time, that no one was watching her sleep through the night.)

Jen, after fully exhausting herself with her kitchen decluttering project, landed face-down on her pillow, ready to retire. She told herself it was exhaustion, ignoring the nerves that were swirling in her stomach, trying to tamp them down to keep them from reaching her heart. She was starting to drift off when she heard it: a tap and three scratches, a pause, a tap, a pause again, then a scratch and a final tap.

_J-E-N._

Jen smiled into the pillow, “you saw that, huh?”

The curtains move excitedly and the Jen heard the same pattern of taps and scratches again and again.

_Jen. Jen. Jen. Jen._

Jen sat up, biting her lip, trying to keep the excitement down, “Christ, I know my own name, you don’t have to keep telling me.”

The taps from the table became more eager, the ghost probably having a million things she wanted to say. Jen easily decoded them: _Hi. Hi. OMG. Hi. Jen. Thank you._

“Hey Casper, don’t forget to tell me your name.” Jen laughed, couldn’t help but get caught up in the ghost’s excitement. It was a kind of childlike happiness that Jen hadn’t felt for a long time, like being a kid and getting a new play mate or discovering a secret from the grown-ups. Jen supposed that it might be exactly be the two of those things.

.--- ..- -.. -.--

“Judy,” Jen said, testing out the name. The curtains started swirling like there was a small tornado in the room, the happiness of _Judy_ on full display. Jen chuckled, delighted at the reaction, but as soon as she said the name, something was beginning to unsettle at the pit of her stomach. She frowned slightly.

The ghost went back to tapping on the desk.

.... .. / .. -- / .--- ..- -.. -.-- _Hi, I’m Judy._

“Hi, Judy. Judy the friendly ghost” Jen said, joking, but still uneasy, “I’m guessing you have a last name.”

.... .- .-.. ./.--- ..- -.. -.-- / .... .- .-.. . _Hale_. _Judy Hale._

Judy Hale.

Jen’s blood ran cold. She knew the name. It was a name that she had stared at for too long when she looked through the police report of the night that Ted had died. She remembered reading it, filled with a blind rage. She had said it out loud then, too, once, _Judy Hale_. She had said it so spitefully, ready to hate, ready to blame, ready to fight this woman that had just ripped her life apart.

But Judy Hale was already dead.

“You killed my husband,” Jen said, not hatefully, none of the venom the she had tasted in her tongue that first night. She said it as a matter-of-fact. (But maybe, tinged with a little bit of heartbreak.)

Jen stopped sleeping in her room after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts. Next chapter might come sooner rather than later.
> 
> Title and chapter title from Vashti Bunyan's "I'd Like To Walk Around In Your Mind"
> 
> I have a twitter? @aprilopenmybill
> 
> .. .----. .-.. .-.. / ..-. .. --. ..- .-. . / --- ..- - / .... --- .-- / - --- / --. . - / - .... . -- / - --- / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- --..-- / -.. --- -. .----. - / .-- --- .-. .-. -.-- .-.-.-


	2. I'd like to rearrange your attitude to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jen ponders on being haunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late cause I had to write this chapter TWICE. I thought I've outsmarted unsaved progress with the cloud but technology continues to fuck me over. 
> 
> I'm still listening to the same playlist and have the same twitter. Please enjoy!

Jen stopped feeling Judy’s presence when she started sleeping on the living room sofa.

The realization of who Judy was had propelled her out of her room that night and it led her storming into the backyard, barefoot, not noticing that she was headed straight for the guest house until her hand was on the knob. She looked at the glass panels on the door and found that she was unable to see past her reflection, only making out the vaguest shapes of Ted’s things in the room. She couldn’t go in, the gravity that loomed in the spaces Ted occupied still pulled heavy in her heart. A lot of things in her life could feel like pain, but it was always the guilt that stung the most.

She looked back at the window to her room and felt compelled to laugh at the idea that she was being haunted, from all fronts. So she did, she laughed and she laughed until she walked back in the house and collapsed on the couch. In the morning, she found herself covered by a blanket and she didn’t know which of her sons she should thank for that.

Her new sleeping arrangement induced a fresh wave of concern from Henry who began insisting that he sleep beside her every night. Sometimes she would let him and other times she would carry him back to his room which, honestly, could not be good for her back but he’s been through enough trauma that doesn’t involve seeing his mom crying into the pillows late at night. Even Charlie migrated his nightly gaming routine to the living room instead of holing up in his after dinner. He would sit beside Jen, playing on his laptop and wearing his headphones, until she mildly chastised him, telling him how computers would melt his brain. He would roll his eyes and often left obediently but sometimes, he would linger.

“Is it because the room reminded you too much of dad?” he asked one night after Jen had convinced Henry to sleep on his own bed. There was a contradicting vulnerability and edge to Charlie’s voice and Jen wondered how his son’s feelings had grown to be so complex, indecipherable most of the time, and if that meant she had failed as his mother. “You loved him that much?”

“Yes, Char, of course,” she replied as reassuringly as she could but she had flinched at the question, at the harshness of the ask. “And about the room, it’s just... it’s—”

Jen realized she didn’t know what to say, the room was still undeniably hers and Ted’s and that presented its own challenges but now it was literally being occupied by a _ghost._ She didn’t even know how to begin explaining that.

“I saw you hit him, you know,” Charlie said and Jen felt her heart fall out of her chest. She recognized the subdued anger his voice, it reminded her so much of her own.

“Char, I— I—” Jen stuttered.

“I just don’t understand,” Charlie said, his voice cracking slightly and he coughed it off, regaining composure, “I mean, I know that marriage is hard, it’s _complicated_. Dad always said so.”

Jen recognized the moment as a rare admission from Charlie. Any teenager hated being wrong and he was particularly sensitive about not knowing.

“You know, Char,” Jen began, filing the painful revelation that Ted talked about their marriage problems to their eldest under things she should unpack in her own time. “I _really really_ loved your father. It was just...”

“I know,” Charlie answered but he still had a frown on his face. He shrugged, “It’s just confusing sometimes.”

“I’m sorry,” Jen whispered, feeling a little helpless. Charlie gave her a tight-lipped smile and Jen expected him to get up and leave but he didn’t. He just sat there, wringing his hands together, and she remembered him as a little boy, how often he would look so lost.

“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” Jen asked, deciding that if Charlie would have to toe the line between being a grown-up and being a kid then the least she could do is spoil him sometimes. She gave him an out, “I mean, for Henry. I think it would make him very happy. It could be like a camping thing.”

“Sounds stupid,” Charlie said, but when he walked away, his things were left on the table and he called out, halfway up the stairs, “I’ll get Hen and a sleeping bag.”

Jen didn’t cry that night, but she still couldn’t sleep, spending most of the evening observing the steady breaths of her sons as they dream. She wished she could make it good for them again, so they could stop fidgeting, so they wouldn’t be so plagued with nightmares. Not in the way she was.

She couldn’t feel Judy’s presence anymore but sometimes she would hear it, . --- . -., her name rendered in code. It echoed against the hard surfaces of the house. She would wonder if she had imagined it, then wondered if she had imagined all of it, all of _her_. That Judy had merely been a figment of her imagination, something her mind conjured in response to her grief, to her rage at the driver responsible for her husband’s death (because her mind had always been the cruelest to herself.) Maybe that would be for the best. If she had made it all up, Jen thought, then she could just schedule herself an appointment with a psychologist and then maybe the world would tip right back into its axis.

But for some inexplicable reason, she didn’t let herself believe it, or _not_ believe in it, in Judy’s existence. Instead, curled up on the sofa, she would wait for it again, night after night. Tap-scratch-scratch, tap, scratch-tap. _Jen. Jen. Jen._ It was only then that she could fall asleep, listening to the suggestion of her name. And sometimes, right before completely drifting off, her ears would pick up: .. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- _I’m sorry._

—

Jen didn’t know what she was doing.

“ _Beach Haven Assisted Living,_ ” she read the sign slowly, out loud, as if doing so would help her understand her own actions. She had been sitting in her car for the past fifteen minutes, listening to the brutal guitars and screaming vocals pumping out of the speakers. She reflected on last night’s events that led her here: it had been another restless evening on the couch—crying spells came in flits and dreamless sleeps even more fleeting. Jen had given up, at some point, pulling out her laptop to find something to work on even though she felt like Christopher was on the verge of dropping her as a business associate. She sighed and figured that for all the suffering sleeping in the living room had been causing her back, at least she had much easier access to wine.

Halfway through the bottle, idly flipping through channels on the TV, she was seized by a sudden realization and bolted up to a seat. She opened her computer again. It was just an impulse but she felt her hands slightly shake as she typed on the search bar: _judy hale laguna beach_.

“Well, you’ve made it this far,” she told herself, turning the car engine off. She would repeat this sentiment as she walked up to the building and entered the doors, as she wandered blindly through the hallways. Still, she didn’t know what it is for, exactly, what making it far meant.

It was on her third dead end that she started to regret ignoring the map illustrated in the lobby, the fire escape diagrams not helping as the numbers didn’t really mean anything to her. She started doubting if being there was even a good idea. It was last night, when Jen had felt a sudden insecurity at the realization that she had uncharacteristically opened up so easily to the ghost in her room. Except Judy wasn’t just a ghost, she used to be a person. A person with her own thoughts, history, and secrets. Jen didn’t really understand, but she felt the need to even the playing field between them, she wanted to know things about Judy, too. For a moment, she entertained the idea that maybe, if Jen had met her alive, they would’ve still been friends— probably not, Jen thought, considering she killed her husband. But maybe.

Jen walked over to one of the residents that was sitting on a chair in the hallway.

“Hi. Excuse me, do you know where I could find the activity room?” Jen asked, the resident ignored her. “Or like, where Judy Hale used to teach.”

Without even looking up, the resident replied, “Never heard of her.”

“Okay,” Jen said. She knew she wasn’t particularly good with the elderly, but _jeez_. She sighed, turning her attention to the room beside her and _oh_. The hallway opened up to something she imagined an activity room in an assisted care facility would look like. She scanned the room, her eye getting caught on one of the paintings on the shelf, a little girl with a heart-shaped hole on her chest. _How morbid_ , she thought, then, _what now?_

“Are you a friend of Judy’s” someone called out to her. Jen looked to see that it was one of the male residents sitting in front of a table where an unfinished jigsaw puzzle sat.

“Yeah,” Jen answered without really thinking about it. She was beckoned over. “Hi, I’m Jen.”

“Oh,” the old man replied, a hint of recognition in his tone. He gestured for her to sit down. “I’m Abe.”

Jen accepted the offer, sitting down on the adjacent side of the table, “Thank you.” She looked around the room again, a little nervous, and started twiddling her thumbs on the table.

“Judy um, she doesn’t go here anymore,” Abe said, looking at Jen carefully.

“Oh yeah— I know uh—” she stuttered awkwardly, then took a deep breath, “Were you— were you close?”

Abe sighed fondly, “She was one of the good ones.”

“I’m sorry,” Jen said sincerely. She picked up one of the pieces on the table and flipped it between her fingers. Sensing his gaze on her, she squeezed her eyes shut for a second and took a deep breath. “I just— I’m— this might sound a little weird, but can you tell me about Judy?”

She met Abe’s eyes, looking serious, but he soon stretched his lips into a soft smile, “Sure.”

So he did. Abe painted an image of Judy Hale that didn’t match the monster that Jen had imagined all those weeks ago, when she had read her name and seen her picture on the police file. Judy was reckless but she wasn’t careless— in fact, she may have too much of it, of compassion, practically endless, maybe even for people who didn’t deserve it. Abe talked about Judy through the afternoon, talked to Jen about everything he knew. About her paintings and her dreams, about her mother and her fiancé, and Jen couldn’t stop listening. She wanted to know more, wanted more details to fill in the outline of Judy in her mind. And she could believe him, easily, especially when the Judy he’s describing, _his_ Judy, was so familiar in the ghost that was in Jen’s room. The one that had kept her company through the night, the one that responded enthusiastically to her crude jokes, the one that was so, so happy when Jen said her name.

“Sometimes she wondered if she might be crazy,” Abe said, “but I don’t think that it ever mattered. She was _good_. Crazy or not.”

Jen nodded slowly, just realizing that tears have been building in her eyes. She said softly, “she didn’t deserve to die.”

“Your husband didn’t, either,” Abe said, reaching over to place his hand over hers. “But, I don’t really believe in deserves. You think that child in Auschwitz got what he deserved?”

“Oh god. Of course not,” Jen grimaced. “No, I just think that maybe I deserve these bad feelings inside of me. I mean, for all the bad things I’ve done.”

Abe squeezed her hands, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Thanks, Abe,” Jen replied gratefully. She let the comfort wash over her but then she thought something odd. Frowning, she asked, “Wait, how did you know that—”

“You’re the nice lady that taught her Morse code,” he said simply.

Jen blinked, completely taken aback. She looked around the room frantically before turning back to Abe.

“Is— is she here?” she whispered.

“She was,” he laughed, “bolted as soon as you walked through those doors.”

“Oh, uh. I’m sorry,” Jen sputtered, “We’re a little...”

He waved her off, “she has quite the trespass against you, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Jen said quietly, “I don’t— I don’t know. It’s been—”

“But you wanted to know about her.”

“I did, yeah,” Jen sighed, “I don’t know. I was so angry at her for so long and I didn’t even know her then. I was so angry at Judy Hale, at a name and a picture on a police file. But now it’s so... _complicated_.”

Abe hummed in sympathy and they sat in silence for a little while longer.

“Let me tell you something. I’m not the most religious man,” Abe began, shaking his head slightly, “but there’s nothing like a woman like her to make you question everything you believed in, right near the end of your life.”

Jen slept in her room that night.

It was a quarter past one when she heard it. One arm tucked under her head, she sharpened her ears, waiting for the taps and scratches that spell out her name. Except, that wasn’t how the sound unfolded.

...-- ----. .----

“Three-ninety-one?” Jen asked out loud. After a beat, she felt something move on her bedside table, the remote for the TV. She took it, pressing the power button and flipping the channel to 391. “Oh shit, _Facts of Life_. Is this on every night?”

The curtains rustled.

“God, I used to love this show.”

.-.. --- ...- . -.. / .. - _Loved it._

They watched the show together in relative silence, with Jen chuckling every now and then, followed by some odd movement in the room caused by Judy. When the first episode ended, Jen didn’t look away from the screen but she spoke to Judy.

“I know it was an accident,” she said, voice trembling slightly, “You sped past him but you tried to turn around. You must have. That’s probably why your car swerved into the ditch and hit that tree.”

There was no response.

“It wasn’t your fault, Judy,” Jen continued, her throat was beginning to feel a little tight, “I’m sorry.”

A long pause.

.. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- --..-- / - --- --- _I’m sorry, too._

Then, unable to stop her own mouth, Jen said, “God, I wish you weren’t dead.”

The words hung heavy in the air and Jen grimaced at her own tactlessness. She cursed herself for the selfishness, and even more so, at how the words sounded so incomplete. An unexplored train of thought, one that hasn’t earned its audience.

..- / .-. / -... .-.. .- .. .-. _U R Blair._

Judy would save the day, of course.

“What? Fuck you,” Jen exclaimed, “Seriously, fuck you. I’m a Jo.”

The table creaked aggressively in protest. Jen argued but couldn’t help the laughter that escaped her lips, ringing gleefully in the room.

Later, when Jen thought herself asleep, she imagined a whisper calling out to her in an unfamiliarly tender voice, _Jen._

“You can stay here,” Jen mumbled, sleepily gesturing towards the other side of the bed. She felt Judy move closer and closer, a shape more solid than before, until she could feel the faintest dip in the mattress. In the morning she remembered that dream, thinking, _impossible_.

But then again, maybe it was about time Jen started believing in something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would so, so much like to hear your thoughts on this. 
> 
> No promises, for the next chapter, unfortunately, since I am easily distracted by other AUs... and like... smut.
> 
> Title is still from the same Vashti Bunyan song.
> 
> .-- . .----. .-. . / --. . - - .. -. --. / -.-. .-.. --- ... . .-. / - --- / - .... . / ... . -..- / -... ..- - / .-- . .----. .-. . / ... - .. .-.. .-.. / ..-. .. --. ..- .-. .. -. --. / --- ..- - .-.-.-


	3. All their ghosts turned into reasons and excuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jen thinks about ghosts, guilt, and getting over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! This is longer than before, to make up for getting distracted by writing porn.  
> Oh, same Twitter but I have a curious cat now (curiouscat.me/aprilopenmybill)  
> Enjoy~~

Jen was leaning against Henry’s doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side.

“Sure, honey,” she said, forcing a smile on her face, hoping it was supportive, not really knowing what kind of face a person should make when their son shouts for them early in the morning (which was heart-attack-inducing in itself) only to tell them that his dead dad was _here_. For one hot second, considering she had a newly-opened third eye, apparently, she thought that _maybe, fucking maybe..._ So she lifted her hands in front of her, palms out, vaguely feeling the air or some shit. But there was nothing to feel. There was only a bird on the window.

.-- .... .- - ... / ..- .--. ..--.., What’s up?

Jen froze slightly at the contact. She was still trying to get used to it, the phantom touches on her arm. Featherlight grazes and hints of friction that if she wasn’t paying too much attention, she wouldn’t realize were purposeful— not just misplaced sensations of a malfunctioning neuron (and does she know a thing or two about that.) But she’s learned to zero in on the touches. It was Judy, of course, delivering short messages to Jen in code. Now _that_ was a development— somehow it just never occurred to either of them that Judy could just _touch_ Jen. Which might be ridiculous, considering, wasn’t that what people in the movies usually checked first?

But it was only late one evening, wine bottle already a couple of inches from empty, on a particularly funny scene on TV (funny in the kind of nostalgic, canned laughter way) that Jen found herself instinctively leaning onto the other side of the bed. That was Judy’s spot now, she had been staying there comfortably— the beginning of, Jen wasn’t exactly sure, but it felt like a natural progression as much as any. Then when she felt the slight pressure on her hand, they both jumped.

“Was that...?” Jen asked, rubbing the tip of her ring finger as if she had been burned. Maybe it had been— it was _warm_ , surprisingly so. She felt Judy shift away from her, maybe scrambling out of bed. “No, no. Judy, stay here.”

Then came the familiar sequence of taps again. _J-E-N_. Judy had mastered Morse code quickly enough, which resulted in late nights of her tapping away at a rapid pace as she had a plethora of things she wanted to tell Jen. She was... _talkative_ which didn’t really come as a surprise but sometimes it was a headache trying to keep up, trying to be aware of when a word would end and a new one would begin. Still, Jen would let her ramble on as much as her brain could stave off a migraine cause _god_ , did Judy listen to her voice out her most mundane thoughts during those first nights. But for all of Judy’s endless stream of consciousness and very opinionated lectures on crystals and empowering women, sometimes, she would just spell out Jen’s name, as if that said everything. It’s the word she used the most, her _favorite_ , she said. Jen guessed it was because it was her first, like a kind of imprinting. And at some point, Jen heard it enough times that she could tell apart the inflections of meanings in the knocks. And this one was in the particular tone of apologetic.

Jen looked at her hand, at the spot where she had been grazed, at where she felt Judy.

“You can touch me again,” she said, her breath hitching a little as she didn’t really know what she wanted to come out of this. But she stretched out her arm to the space in front of her, offering. “I mean, don’t you want to check?”

A pause. Then, --- -.- _Ok._

Jen waited, breath heavy, a nervous anticipation that was rooted in something she didn’t understand. Then she felt it, barely, on the pads of her fingers, warm and more like air than solid but it was there and it had a shape. It felt like a _person_. And to Jen, the concept of a person was suddenly starting to feel like something more abstract and profound than she ever considered before. Then, overcame with a sort of greed, a kind that she had always been susceptible to, she pushed her hand further into the sensation, into Judy. But it sped past the warmth and she could only watch as her hand fell flat onto the bed.

Her disappointment was immediate and crushing, “Oh.”

They sat in silence as Jen frowned at her hand. It was a few seconds later that she heard the knocks on the headboard.

\- .-. -.-- / .- --. .- .. -. _Try again._

They quickly worked out that Judy’s physicality was unreliable at best and a complete fucking enigma at worst, probably dictated by some sort of metaphysical law that Jen’s mind couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And Judy didn’t get it, too. It just didn’t _work_ all the time. Still, the touches that found some sort of consistency were the lightest ones and Judy started to talk to Jen through the skin of her forearm. It was better, in a way, because the sound of tapping was starting to drive her a little crazy—she had almost gotten into the habit of decoding Chris’ pen clicks.

Also, Judy could talk to her anywhere now, and not just in quiet rooms with hardwood and great acoustics.

“Henry thinks that the bird is his father,” she said under her breath, “so that’s where we’re at right now.”

.- .-- _Aw._

Jen’s arm twitched— definitely needed a little more getting used to. Which shouldn’t come as a surprise, really, Jen was still having to wrap her head around the whole paranormal thing. It was so against her hardwiring from decades of pragmatic living. So she’s allowed to have that, right? To be thinking so much about Judy, to be so conscious about how warm she felt, and not be expected to imagine that it was caused by anything other than instinctual curiosity for what lies beyond.

“Jude, it’s not— that’s not how it works, right?” Jen asked, looking at the bird hopping around Henry’s window sill. She was trying to imagine it being Ted. “I mean that’s gotta be where we draw the line.”

.. - / -.-. --- ..- .-.. -.. / -... . / - .-. ..- . _It could be true._

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

.... . ... / .... .- .--. .--. -.-- _He’s happy._

“Yeah, I guess” Jen sighed, then thinking about the lingering warmth on her arm, “It’s a nice feeling, when you have somebody.”

.. - / .. ... _It is._

Jen couldn’t help the smile that made its way to her face. The scene before her was not too foreboding now, of Henry’s head rested on his table by the window and the bird hopping around before flying away.

“C’mon, Boop. It’s time for breakfast.”

“Okay,” Henry said, turning around to face Jen. He shifted his gaze slightly to the left and his smile widened. “Is Judy gonna join us?”

Jen blinked a few times.

“Wha— uh, um,” she stuttered then coughed a little, “Um what did you just say, sweetheart?”

Then she felt it on her arm again, .--- . -., _Jen_ , apologetic.

God, she better fucking be.

—

That afternoon, Jen found herself inside the guest house for the second time since the accident.

“Can I have Dad’s Les Paul?”

“Alright, kiddo,” Jen replied, dismounting the guitar from the wall. She handed it to Henry. “There you go.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he replied, grabbing it by the neck and body. Jen hummed, thinking it just might be a little too big for him to be able to bring up to his room unscathed. She was watching as Henry barely managed to get it out the door without hitting the frame and wondered if giving it to him was a good idea. _Well, whatever_ , Charlie had already finessed her into giving him the drums with the gun fake-out, which she knew would be a nightmare for her later.

“Careful, Boop,” she called out. After seeing to it that Henry made it inside the house, Jen looked around the room and sighed, _there’s so much shit in here._

It had been through Judy’s convincing that Jen finally decided to go into the guest house, Ted’s studio, along with the fact that Pastor Wayne kept telling her of the wonders of _confronting grief_ and she finally gave in. At least to say yeah, I _tried_. (She had passed on the idea of celebrating Ted’s birthday, taking the boys on an awkward hike, instead, mainly to escape whatever pity party extravaganza Lorna had set up.)

Ignoring the larger items she should probably move out of the way, she picked up a band shirt that was hanging off the back of a chair and began folding it. Jen looked at it after she was done, couldn’t help as she pushed the fabric into her face and took a deep inhale. It smelled like Ted, of course, and she felt the familiar caving in on her heart and that horrible, horrible feeling in the pit in her stomach that would climb up her chest and claw its way into her throat until it spread its taste in her mouth. Guilt.

But Jen reigned it in, just barely keeping it together, and that was already an improvement from the first time she entered the guest house. That day she went home early in the afternoon, when she knew the boys would still be at school and Judy would be hanging out with Abe and the other residents ( _I’ve just managed to convince some of them that I’m not the angel of death!_ ). She had been inside for all but five minutes when she saw his picture with the boys and Henry’s greeting card that was kept on display. This promptly resulted into her sinking down onto the chair, sobbing. She hadn’t even noticed the time passing until she felt a familiar presence beside her.

“God, this needs to be fixed,” Jen said, quickly wiping away her tears and reaching for the switch of a desk lamp with a flickering bulb. “Can you believe that was turned on the entire time? Thank god he didn’t leave any food in here.”

-.-- --- ..- / -- .. ... ... / .... .. -- _You miss him._

“I do, I really do. He and the boys were all I’ve ever known for twenty fucking years,” Jen said. It wasn’t a lie, but it didn’t feel like the whole truth, either. And since she hasn’t made it a habit of keeping much from Judy, she added, in a quieter voice, “But it isn’t— I just feel so bad, Jude.”

It was the guilt. It was always the guilt.

-. --- - / -.-- --- ..- .-. / ..-. .- ..- .-.. - _Not your fault._

“It’s just— god, I wish I didn’t hit him,” Jen said, still not able to say it without wincing at herself, without that horrible feeling choking her, “I wish that Charlie didn’t have to see that. I wish the boys still had their father.”

.. / -.- -. --- .-- / .... --- -. _I know, hon._

Jen didn’t understand, the next words that Judy was spelling out on her arm, it didn’t have the usual staccato of Morse. She was about to ask Judy to repeat what she said when she realized that Judy wasn’t saying anything at all. She was just tracing circles on her arm, comforting her, the faintest shape of her trying to keep constant contact with Jen, assuring Jen that she’s _there_. For those seconds, the warmth was enough to cloud over the guilt.

“I want you to be there,” Jen said. Suddenly feeling so tired of being alone. “Next week. Like you said, I think the boys and I should look through his things. In the guest house. Keep me sane in front of them, at least.”

_Judy was supposed to be here._ But that morning, Jen told Henry, very pointedly, that Judy was _not_ joining them for breakfast nor was she gonna be around in the afternoon.

“Mom,” Henry called, standing by the door of the guest house.

“What’s up?” Jen asked, jumping a little, quickly gathering her thoughts. “Is there anything else you want, Boop?”

“I’m good,” he shrugged, “I just wanna ask if you were going to get rid of everything. Of Dad’s stuff?”

“Oh, I’m not going to get rid of anything, sweetie,” Jen said softly, walking over to him. “They’re just going into storage. We can get them anytime.”

“Okay,” Henry said, “But I think you should keep some of Dad’s favorite things in here. I think he would be happy to be able to see them.”

Right, the bird.

“Of course,” Jen smiled. What else could she do other than let him believe what he needed to believe? Henry nodded at her but he looked like he still had other things in his mind. “Is there anything else, Boop?”

“Are you mad at Judy?” Henry asked.

“No, honey,” Jen said, and as soon as she did, she knew she meant it. “I was just... surprised.”

“I think she’s nice,” Henry said, smiling. “I like her.”

“You don’t think she’s scary?”

“No, not at all,” he answered surely, “I thought ghosts would be scary but she isn’t. She would talk to me about birds and plants and energies and stuff.”

“That’s nice,” Jen said and she couldn’t help but smile at the image. “When did you meet her?”

He paused for a while, thinking.

“Oh! She was trying to give you a blanket,” he laughed, “She wasn’t very good at holding it, though. I had to help her.”

_Oh._ That first night on the couch. It suddenly felt so long, long ago. A very different Jen, ago.

“Well thank you for that, Boop. To the both of you.”

“She’s your friend, right?” Henry asked, hopefully.

“She is,” Jen replied honestly.

“I didn’t know if I was supposed to tell you about her” he said, unsure, “but then I saw her with you this morning.”

Jen squatted down, bending her knees until she was at Henry’s eye level.

“You can tell me anything, Boop, okay?” she said, running her fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry that mommy’s been a little out of it. I’ll get better soon.”

“You already are!” he replied, “I mean, I don’t think you’re going to be taken away anymore.”

Jen smiled, feeling her eyes water. She wondered how she could have been so lucky to have her beautiful sons. Henry, who loved her more than she deserved and Charlie, who forgave her when he didn’t have to. She thought of the anger that clouded her for weeks after Ted’s death, of how it reddened her vision so that she couldn’t see how precious the things that she still had left were. She thought about Judy, who caused it, maybe, but had also been the only one who could absolve her from that anger— even those that existed before the accident.

“Wait,” Jen asked when they were walking back into the house, temporarily abandoning the clearing project. “You can see her?”

“Sometimes, not all the time.”

“Oh,” Jen said, _look through children’s eyes, try to tell them why._

“It’s not scary. She’s very pretty.”

Jen thought of the pictures of Judy she had seen online, from all the times that she had looked her up (more often than she would care to admit.) She thought of her wide eyes and her bright smile and the pending friend request that she knew would never be responded to.

“Yeah, she is. Very pretty.”

—

..- / --- -.- _U ok?_

Jen was standing by the window of her room, staring into the guest house. The sight of which wasn’t as harrowing anymore. She recalled the heaviness it carried all those months, how it was impossible to even walk by. But now it was just a room with four walls and Jen can look at it without having to feel like it was housing a burning pyre, waiting for her condemnation.

“Yeah, yeah. I mean— it helped, you were right,” Jen said, wrapping herself in an embrace, rubbing her arms, comforting herself because she felt like she was allowed to do that now. “I’m sorry about this morning. I freaked out.”

. .... / .. / -.- -. --- .-- _Eh. I know._

“I know you know,” Jen said and gave Judy a soft smile. “You always know before I do. So, did you have fun with Abe?”

.. / -.. .. -.. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / -... . / .... . .-. . / - .... --- ..- --. .... _I did. Wanted to be here, though._

“Yeah, I wish you were, too.”

She felt it again, the warm circles that Judy was tracing on her arm. Jen leaned into it instinctively, greedily, but unlike before, it didn’t give. She felt her skin taut as it met resistance. Judy paused but she didn’t remove her hand. Jen, with a sort of self-control, didn’t want to push it, not this time. So Judy resumed her motions, a little more defined than before.

“I feel less... haunted,” Jen admitted. “Is that okay?”

\--- ..-. / -.-. --- ..- .-. ... . / -. --- - / --- ..-. ..-. . -. ... .. ...- . / .- -. -.. / .. -- / .- / --. .... --- ... - _Of course. Not offensive— and I’m a ghost._

Jen laughed slightly. She felt much better that she ever did since the accident. But there was still an unease sitting in the corner of her heart, a growing discomfort with the relief of letting go, the ease of moving on. That’s what people are supposed to do with the dead, right? It’s what Pastor Wayne and her grief group wanted for themselves.

Then what about Judy? What was she supposed to do with her? Is it that somewhere along the line, she was supposed to move on from her, too? That one day she has to let her go?

“Ah shit,” Jen groaned, the idea of having to experience another loss was suddenly too much to entertain. She focused on the thing that caught her eye, a flickering light from the guest house. “I left that fucking lamp on.”

Except that Jen knew she didn’t, she remembered distinctly that she had unplugged everything in that room. As the uneasy feeling transformed inside Jen, the irregular flashes of light became like lines on a page. Unintelligible scribbles until you figured out where the words started and where they ended. Until it all came into focus, until it was all just _code_. All of a sudden, she could all but read it too easily, each letter dragging something out the pit of her stomach.

_G-O-O-D-N-I-G-H-T, B-U-D._

It wasn’t the bird.

Jen stormed out of the room, practically sprinting the few meters to Henry’s door. She hoped of all hopes that he was in bed, asleep.

He wasn’t.

“What are you doing?” Jen asked, sounding more panicked than she had intended when she saw Henry kneeling on his table, staring out the window, flashlight in hand. He whipped his head to look at her before turning back to the yard. He clicked on the switch of the flashlight, in patterns from the oh-so familiar alphabet.

-. .. --. .... - / -.. .- -.. _Night, Dad._

Jen had to leave. She dragged herself out the room, making it to the hallway before she felt her knees give out from under her, like she had been hit by a ton of bricks, like forgiveness was suddenly snatched away. Judy tried to catch her, maybe, because she felt herself pass through a haze before hitting the floor.

The feeling on her arm came back, frantic. _Jen._

She never thought that warmth, too, could feel like guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have fun, guys, don't we?
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'll be so happy to read your thoughts, really.
> 
> No promises again for the date of the next chapter, I'll try not to get too distracted.
> 
> This chapter's title is from Delete Forever by Grimes which is honestly the best song in the album.
> 
> \- .... . -.-- / -.-. .- -. / - --- ..- -.-. .... / -. --- .-- .-.-.- / .. ... -. .----. - / - .... .- - / --. .-. . .- - ..--.. / ... .-.. --- .-- .-.. -.-- / -... ..- - / ... ..- .-. . .-.. -.-- --..-- / -.-- . .- .... ..--.. / - .-. ..- ... - / -- . .-.-.-


	4. An eye for an eye for an eye for an eye for an eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jen feels like everything is back to square one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chap! But I don't think that means it's a treat-- I feel like I should apologize, actually. Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> (Also, mild het warning.)

Jen quickly found out how easily a _today_ could suddenly feel like six months ago. It was the familiarity of going through the motions in a lethargic body, of only having half a mind to process anything. It was how sometimes, a surge of emotions would flare up, beyond understanding and without direction. And more often that not, it was anger— one that was so debilitatingly overwhelming and purposeless that it felt like someone’s absurd, cruel joke.

The haze wasn’t unknown to Jen, and that may be the worst part. It was six months ago when she could barely remember how she managed to arrange Ted’s funeral, at how she adjusted to a life where her kids would need her to see them through their daily routines. That was six months ago and things have changed until all of a sudden, progress was an illusion, unraveled by the words: _night, Dad._ The todays started feeling like square one, the grief was fresh and all-consuming. Still, somehow, like before, things would get done: the kids woken up, coffee and cereal prepared on the table; she would find herself dressed and have already brought the boys to school and herself, to work. The motions of the day continued, her body on autopilot. She made no attempts to fill the gaps in her memory because Jen doubted she had retained anything at all.

-.- .. -. -.. .- / ... --- ..- -. -.. ... / .-.. .. -.- . / -.-- --- ..- .-. . / .- / --. .... --- ... - _Kinda sounds like you’re a ghost_ , Judy said the other night when Jen had enough of a handle on her emotions to articulate them. It was a tongue-in-cheek comment but Jen knew the truth in it. Judy had told her about the first few weeks of afterlife, of how confusing it had been, how she didn’t even know she had died at first. Judy said she felt drawn in by certain habits like the routine of going to work and going home. But when she had realized that none of the residents could see her and her house had basically been emptied out, she fled in a panic. And somehow, she ended up in Jen’s bedroom. Judy said a certain energy attracted her, something that she felt could buoy her in the ocean of the unknown, long after she had swam past the sea of familiarity

It could’ve been kind of romantic, Jen thought, only entertaining that idea because she knew it was not. Because whatever attracted Judy would probably have more to do with her last minutes in the physical realm than any sort of cosmic tie specifically to Jen. It was Ted who had brought her to the house. Probably in relation to the fact that their deaths were irrevocably intertwined.

And Jen would try not to linger on that fact, as if she needed any more feelings of fucked up jealousy to add to the bonfire of guilt inside of her. It was relit so magnificently, that night she found out that Ted was _still around_ , and it turned out that wounds that have only begun to heal, those that haven’t yet quite scarred, hurt twice as much reopened.

Still, she would laugh at Judy’s attempts at jokes, would accept the palpable concern about her current state. That much she could stomach, she could let herself indulge in, allowed the feeling of comfort wash over her in clarity. These days, it was the most she would feel like she was in her own body.

But when Judy would reach over, when she would grab Jen’s hand more confidently than before, Jen would pull away, _don’t_. She didn’t think she deserved it, to feel how much more solid Judy had become, how _real_. She didn’t deserve to want that. Not when they were in the room she shared with her husband, not when the person she forgave on his behalf sat on his side of the bed while he existed in the guest house. It turned out that being in her own body meant that she could feel it all inside her burn, burn, burn.

—

Jen walked into the guest house, a plate of lasagna on hand which kind of looked a little bit like something that was massacred. Maybe she should’ve just gotten Ted’s favorite take-out instead of attempting his recipe, but Henry had so happily suggested it, that maybe his Dad’s favorite food could coax him out from hiding.

She did feel a little ridiculous as she placed the pasta on his desk, knowing that it would be left untouched and she would have to throw it in the trash later. It wasn’t even his favorite, it was just what Henry thought it was. She walked over to the daybed, moving more comfortably now that she had done this how many nights in a row. Rearranging the pillows, she wondered how long she was going to wait for him this time.

“Baby,” she said, stretching out against the cushion, “I’m just going to rest here, okay?”

This part wasn’t too hard, it didn’t feel like penance yet (that came much later, when the guilt would get fanned anew and the tears would come but would do nothing to calm the fire pit in her stomach. And all that would come out of her lips would be apologies that grew into indecipherable imsorryimsorryimsorryimsosorryimsofuckingsorrys.) It reminded her of years ago, of a different life they lived when she would lie down on the sofa in their shared New York apartment, behind Ted’s makeshift studio, as she pressed an icepack onto her sore calves and feet. She would watch the back of his head as he worked on mixing a song and he would occasionally turn around to ask for her opinion or make a joke or just give her a full, boyish smile. Then she would fall asleep to the sight of his head bobbing up and down to whatever sound was playing on the headphones.

The irony wasn’t lost on Jen, how she was able to remember it so clearly now, how she was able to connect with their old selves after all these years, when it was irredeemably too late. Or no, maybe the irony was that it was the back of his head that she last saw of him, as he walked out the front door, his hand nursing the part of his face that met her fist. Or maybe it was that for all those times he would wake her up from that ratty couch, to tell her that it was time to move to the bedroom, that he was glad she waited for him (thank you for being there), that what would kill him was the fact that he couldn’t spend another second in the same house as her.

Then it would happen, imsorryimsorryimsorryimsosorryimsofuckingsorry, and she would hide her face behind her forearms because the tears would come out so fiercely and uncontrollably. But her sobs would still echo pathetically against the insulated walls of the room, like her helplessness was being replayed back to her, her apologies left unaccepted. Because there was nothing. No flickering of lights, no knocks on wood, no whispers in the air. No atonement for Jen, not on this night too.

Ted was here, he had to be. Henry saw him for a couple of days, enough for a good morning and a good night. He was somewhere. He just didn’t want to talk to Jen.

“Ted, how much longer?” she asked out loud, desperately, and she wasn’t sure what she had meant, exactly. She didn’t even know if she was allowed to ask that— she wasn’t religious but if there was anything she knew about the flames of hell, it was that they burned for eternity.

.--- . -. _Jen._

It was a sound as much as what she was waiting for but she knew that wasn’t it. Too familiar was the cadence of the knocks, if there could even be such a thing, and she bolted upright, quickly wiping the tears off her face.

“Judy, what the hell?” Jen demanded. She knew not to go into the guest house, Jen had explicitly forbidden her, not ready to deal with the idea of her and Ted even _interacting_ (seeing how well that went the last time they did). But suddenly there was the feeling of a hand grasping at her wrist. “Let go. I told you not to come in here.”

But Jen couldn’t shake Judy off and she gave herself a second to wonder, when did Judy get so _solid?_

.--- . -. _Jen._

It didn’t register the first time, the urgency in the knocks, and when it did, Jen looked around worriedly. Judy didn’t even get past the R of _Charlie_ when Jen jumped to her feet and rushed out the guest house. Zooming past the yard, she walked through the doors to the living room, looking for some sign of disarray. She spotted Charlie quickly but he was only sitting on the island as usual, hunched over his laptop. Jen was about to ask Judy what the fuck was going on when she realized that Charlie was unusually still. She walked over to him, and saw that he was practically frozen, completely devoid of the impatient fidgeting he would always have.

Panic seized Jen and she immediately enveloped his head and shoulders into her arms.

“Char, honey, what’s going on? What’s happening?” she asked frantically— the fact that he hadn’t reacted against her embrace shot her worries sky high.

“I... Dad he—” he began, voice cracking, sounding a little dazed. Jen looked over to the laptop, realizing that it was Ted’s and not the new one she bought for him. A game was running, the one he always played, and there were chat boxes left open. She caught the word _cock_ , then, _where have you been, baby?_ , then, _I miss you._

It didn’t click immediately in Jen’s mind, like a puzzle that was too easy to solve, throwing her into a loop, onto a convoluted path of reasoning before landing on the most obvious conclusion: _Ted was fucking someone._

Anger knew Jen too well; it knew the shortcuts from her brain to her heart to her mouth to her fist. She felt the beginning of a shake, the start of the ticking of a bomb. And _oh_ _god_ , was she ready to let it blow, to raze their fucking house. If Ted wanted her to burn, then she would make ashes out of him.

But then she felt the touch of Judy’s hand, its warmth was different from fire, she traced the skin of Jen’s forearm to her hand and pressed on the fingers that were caressing Charlie’s head.

“Char, honey,” Jen said, with a loud, shuddering exhale. She couldn’t believe that she almost forgot, almost forgot just who it was that would lose the most. “Hey, Charlie, baby, baby— don’t look at that. Your father loved you very much, this doesn’t change that. He loved you so, so much.”

“I showed him this game,” he said, still a little out of it. “I made him play with me.”

“Charlie, _no_ , this is not your fault,” Jen said, frantically rocking him back and forth. “None of this is your fault. This is your Dad’s and mine—“

Charlie pushed her away harshly, not cruelly, but it was as if he had only noticed that she was there with him. He looked at her with shock, mostly, but also something else. Something more painful that was beginning to show in the corners of his eyes.

“Why the fuck aren’t _you_ mad, Mom?” he demanded, voice raising. In an accusatory tone, “Did you fucking know?”

“No! God, I didn’t have a fucking—” she began, almost matching his volume and tone. But the insistent warmth on her wrist calmed her down. “Charlie, your father loved you—”

“So he played us both?” he asked. Then at Jen’s lack of response, he laughed unkindly.

“Charlie, your father loved you very much,” Jen said, at a complete fucking loss. She could hear herself sounding like a broken record.

“I _hated_ you,” Charlie said, and it would’ve completely torn Jen apart if she didn’t hear the heartbreak in his words. “Sometimes I did, I really thought I did. Cause Dad— cause he really made it fucking seem like you were... I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“No, Charlie, please...” Jen could hear how pathetic she sounded, they both knew she didn’t have a proper follow-up to that. He just stared at her and she could recognize a mix of anger and guilt that it felt a little surreal at how much it reflected hers. Or maybe she was the one reflecting him. Then she wondered if her eyes looked like that, too. How it actually just looked so _sad_.

Charlie stormed off soon enough, and seeing the back of his head, a panic surged inside Jen, imagining him walking out of the house into the night, a vision of him dead on the side of the road. But he turned left at the stairs, stomping towards his room. Jen wanted to follow, made a motion to, but she felt Judy tighten her grip on her hand, and again, Jen felt a little thrown at how steady it was, at how much it grounded her. And, had Judy been holding her hand this entire time?

.... . / -. . . -.. ... / ... --- -- . / ... .--. .- -.-. . _He needs some space._

Judy was right, Jen knew, but she couldn’t keep still, her heart running a mile a minute. The anger that was kept at bay in front of Charlie, when it needed to be, was now bucking against the reigns. Jen turned to the computer on the table, angrily slamming on the keyboard keys to wake it up. She ignored Judy’s protest that _maybe this isn’t a good idea_ , and as soon as the screen came to life, Jen couldn’t stop herself from reading.

_I love your cock._

And,

_You missed my birthday! I’m 25 now!!!_

And,

_Are we gonna finish the album, babe?_

Fuck. _Holy fuck_. Jen slammed the laptop shut, almost sure that she broke something, and gave herself a few seconds before making a beeline back to the guest house, storming past the yard in a fury. She had left the door open from earlier and as soon as she walked in, she closed with a slam.

“Congratulations, you’ve turned this fucking marriage into a fucking cliché!” Jen shouted into the air, throwing her arms out, daring him to show himself to her. “Ted, do you fucking hear me? You fucking basic bitch! A twenty-five year-old? Seriously? Oh _sorry_ , you didn’t even get to _live_ to her 25th. How long have you been fucking grooming her, you asshole? You fucking asshole!”

Jen picked up the plate of lasagna on the table and threw it at his favorite Gibson acoustic that she left on display as per Henry’s request. It toppled over and the clang of the strings vibrated against its body like a pitiful groan.

“An album! She thinks you’re gonna make her a fucking album! Dumb bitch probably thought you were going to make her famous,” Jen laughed viciously, “You couldn’t even make your own dreams come true, dickwad, not even after I gave everything up for you! I moved here, I worked for your _mother_ , I made it work! And you fucking _couldn’t_. I had my own fucking dreams, Ted, I didn’t even give them a proper chance. And for what? So you could stop fucking me and start fucking a twenty year-old with big, warm tits who made you feel like a genius?”

Jen leaned back against the door, breath heavy, sliding down against the glass panels until she was sitting on the floor.

“What the fuck am I doing, Ted? I’ve been coming here every fucking day to tell you I’m sorry, to fucking apologize… Cause I feel like shit. And you always made me feel like shit. Cause I fucking thought it was my fault cause I thought— I thought... that I was so fucking... _disgusting_.” Jen glared at the guitar on the floor, letting the hot tears slide down her cheeks. “You made me feel like I was the worst person in the entire fucking world. So _let me_ be the worst person in the entire fucking world, Ted: _I’m fucking glad you’re dead_.”

And having said that out loud, Jen rested her head on her knees, sobbing loudly like she was earlier that night. But it was different, this time. Because it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter if she had meant it or not, if it was true or not, if she’ll regret it later or won’t. It just mattered that she said it. _She was glad he was dead._ It was all fire, but she knew that this time, the match was in her hands. It was _hers_.

But still, there was nothing.

.--- . -. _Jen._

“Why won’t he talk to me, Judy?” Jen asked, nothing but exhausted at this point.

\-- .- -.-- -... . / .... . / .. ... -. - / .... . .-. . _Maybe he isn’t here._

Jen would be lying if she said she hadn’t considered it. That all along she had just been spending her nights screaming into the void.

“But Henry... And you saw it, too, that night...”

.. -- / ... --- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- / .--- . -. / .. - / -.-. --- ..- .-.. -.. / .... .- ...- . / .--- ..- ... - / -... . . -. / .-. . ... .. -.. ..- .- .-.. / . -. . .-. --. .. . ... _I’m so sorry, Jen. It could just be residual energies._

“Well _shit_ ,” Jen laughed at herself, feeling her face ache at all the crying. “So all these night were for fucking nothing?”

\--- ..-. / -.-. --- ..- .-. ... . / -. --- - / .. - ... / -.-- --- ..- .-. / --. .-. .. . ..-. / .--- . -. / .. - ... / -.-- --- ..- .-. ... _Of course not. It’s your grief, Jen. It’s_ yours _._

_“_ Even if no one’s listening?”

.. -- / .-.. .. ... - . -. .. -. --. / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... I’m _listening. Always._

Jen leaned her head back against the door. Breathing slowly, she could feel Judy squeezing her hand. In the darkness of the guest house, she could imagine a shape sitting beside her— an outline that could be a mirage. But it was holding her hand, tracing shapes onto her palm.

“You were the one who got to say you raised those kids, and I let you. I let them think the world of you,” she whispered, it was only loud enough for her and Judy to hear at this point. “You were his fucking hero, Ted. And you couldn’t keep it in your pants enough and the fucking specter of your infidelity came back to haunt us. Now Charlie— now he had to lose his father twice.”

Jen pushed herself off the floor, ready to leave. But then a crinkling sound cut through the weighted silence of the room. She turned to the source of the noise and saw a sheet of paper fall off the desk and slide across the floor until it stopped at Jen’s feet. She picked it up: it was a homemade birthday card, similar to Henry’s except a little more worn out. Charlie had made the drawing years ago, a family portrait of him, his dad, a baby Henry, and Jen— stick figures in crayon, wide smiles rendered in thin, curved lines. It made her remember things: birthdays, family trips, anniversaries, and a small, New York apartment where she would spin around in circles to music she was the very first to hear. A very deep, profound regret settled in her gut. But she didn’t know who exactly she felt sorry for.

“Our sons have a lot more growing up to do, Ted,” she said with finality. “And I’m going to be there to see it.”

When Jen opened the door to Charlie’s room, she found him sitting on the edge of his bed, his brand new laptop haphazardly discarded on the floor. She figured that it’ll take him a while to start playing the game again. Or maybe not, maybe kids are resilient. But it didn’t matter how resilient they were, they still needed her.

“Hey, bud,” she said, sitting beside him on the bed. His jaw clenched slightly at the contact

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, spiteful in a very deliberate way, “Not with you.”

“Oh good,” Jen replied, exhaling loudly, “Cause I honestly don’t know what the fuck to say.”

She felt his shoulders relax, slumping back. The tension was starting to dissipate from his body.

“You were crying,” he stated plainly, “Because of Dad, again.”

“Oh.” Jen reached up to touch her face and frowned at how swollen her eyes were. “I guess I was.”

“You were never good at hiding it,” he said. “Even before.”

“Ha,” Jen said, laughing at herself, leaning against her arms she rested behind her. “That’s disappointing.”

Charlie became quiet for a moment, his eyebrows scrunched up, and Jen wanted nothing more than to reach her fingers between them to smooth out the crease. She wanted to soothe him, to embrace him, and tell him it’s all going to be okay. But she knew that it wasn’t what he wanted from her— because he was her son.

“Are you angry?” Charlie asked. “He always thought you’d get angry at everything.”

“Fucking, definitely,” she said, honestly, shaking her head. “But I’m also... a lot of things.”

“You still love, Dad?”

“Well, that, too.”

“Adults are,” Charlie began, sighing, “pretty fucking stupid.”

And Jen pushed her shoulder against his without thinking much of it. He didn’t seem to hate the contact.

“That might be true, kiddo. Maybe that’s why I never want you to grow up,” Jen said and she saw him roll his eyes at her. “I don’t want you to be like me, Char. I don’t want you to be like your father, either. We aren’t perfect— and I wish you didn’t have to learn that.”

“Mhm,” he hummed easily but she could see him clenching and unclenching his fists on his lap.

“So, tell me what you’re feeling,” and as soon as Jen asked, she knew she wasn’t going to get an answer. She readjusted her seat. “I mean, just tell me what you want to do? Right now.”

Charlie took a deep breath and looked around the room.

“I want to break Dad’s drums.”

Then Charlie finally looked Jen in the eye and he seemed like he was waiting for her to chastise him, to tell him no. Jen sighed, her kids are fucking _spoiled_. She reached over to the dresser, grabbing the drumsticks that were sitting there.

“You can start with these,” she said handing them to him.

Charlie took one and immediately broke it over his knee without hesitation. Jen was surprised at the ease he did it, and by his reaction, he was, too. He then grabbed the other one but he didn’t break it, he just held it in one had while he tapped it against the palm of the other.

“Night, Mom,” he said, giving her a tight smile.

Jen didn’t protest and followed his urging for her to leave.

“Night, Char. I love you,” she said, turning back to face him.

He gave her another awkward smile but it seemed more genuine than before and Jen thought, _this is okay_. It might not be okay tomorrow or the next week or even twenty years from now when he would tell her that she had completely fucked up his upbringing. But he didn’t hate her right now and that was _okay_.

As soon as she closed the door, she felt Judy’s hand on hers again, squeezing her tight. For the first time, she let herself return the gesture.

—

The next couple of weeks passed by with a cloud hanging over their home. But unlike what Jen had predicted, it didn’t feel like they were back to square one. They didn’t have to begin from zero again.

Charlie’s mood toward Jen changed daily. He would look at her differently on a day to day basis and she would catch him with varying combinations of pity, hate, regret, sadness, confusion, and love. That much Jen could handle, even on the worst days when he wouldn’t even look in her direction. What was more difficult for her to grapple with was the fact that her son was growing up so fast and maybe they had forced him to do that too soon. But there were days where he would ask her about her day and he hadn’t burn down the guest house (although he did make partially true, his threat against the drums, and Jen noticed a few caved in spots on the bass), and she would take that as good a sign as any.

Henry was some sort of empathetic angel and he soon stopped asking why his Dad had disappeared again, infinitely understanding of Jen’s explanation that the universe worked in mysterious ways. Although she suspected that it had more to do with Judy talking him through it— the complexities of cosmic laws, and of course, _energies_. She would catch them whispering to each other sometimes, and if Jen listened very carefully, she imagined she could hear Judy’s voice over Henry’s. But then again, it could have just been the wind.

She was immeasurably grateful for Judy’s presence. It didn’t go unacknowledged how it could have all exploded so spectacularly if she hadn’t been there that night. But what Jen didn’t really completely understand was the sheer domesticity of her set-up with Judy. Until she saw a frittata on her plate.

“I...” Jen began, looking down at the food, wiping away remnants of sleep, “I didn’t make this.”

-.-- . .- .... / .. / -.. .. -.. _Yeah, I did!_

“You’re _cooking_?” Jen asked, bewildered.

“Judy’s been cooking!” Henry said, excitedly. “Last week it was pancakes, remember?”

“What? When? You can _hold_ things?”

-.-- --- ..- / -.. .. -.. -. - / -. --- - .. -.-. . _You didn’t notice._

And yeah, Jen has been a little out of it but she did know that Judy was gaining mass and shit. But a _frittata_? That would involve a _kitchen knife_ , and chopping, and the fucking gas range. Then Jen realized that maybe her body had not been on autopilot like she had assumed. That all those times, during those hazy days, when the boys would already be awake and the coffee ready and breakfast on the table, it had all been Judy’s doing. That she had seamlessly picked up the slack when Jen was lacking.

.. - / .-- .- ... / .--- ..- ... - / -.-. . .-. . .- .-.. / ..-. --- .-. / - .... . / -- --- ... - / .--. .- .-. - / .- -. -.. / .--. ..- ... .... .. -. --. / - .... . / -... ..- - - --- -. / --- -. / - .... . / -.-. --- ..-. ..-. . . / -- .- -.- . .-. _It was just cereal, for the most part, and pushing the button on the coffeemaker._

“I helped with the pancakes!” Henry added and Judy must have said something to him because he broke out into giggles.

“Judy I— I don’t know what to say,” Jen said, feeling overwhelmed by her emotions, both at Judy’s kindness but also at the realization at how much she had been asleep at the wheel (oh god, did Judy also have to help her _drive_ , too?)

.. - ... / --- -.- _It’s okay_ , Judy replied, then on her skin instead of the table, so that Henry couldn’t listen in, -.-- --- ..- .-. . / --- -.- / .--- . -. / -.-- --- ..- .-. . / -.- . . .--. .. -. --. / - .... .. ... / ..-. .- -- .. .-.. -.-- / - --- --. . - .... . .-. _You’re okay, Jen. You’re keeping this family together._

“Thank you,” she whispered, blinking back tears. They could talk about how much this meant later, they could talk about the mechanics of her ghost body later, they could talk about anything and everything later.

Charlie arrived downstairs after a while and wordlessly ate his breakfast. Then when he turned to Jen to say, “I like this,” Jen realized that square one might already be lightyears away.

It was later on that lazy Sunday afternoon, with Jen comfortably stretched out on the outdoor sofa, alternating between working and watching videos of cats on the internet, that she heard a panicked shout from upstairs.

“Mom!” It was Charlie’s voice and she all but threw her computer off her lap to sprint up the stairs. There’s got to be a limit, she thought, to how many times her family’s life could implode in the span of one year.

She arrived at the scene, in the hallway right next to the linen closet she saw Charlie warily eyeing what appeared to be a _floating white sheet._

“ _You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me_ ,” she said out loud. Charlie turned to her, comically frightened, but he had one arm out defensively, between her and what looked like to be a real life version of a cartoon ghost, “Judy, what the hell are you doing?”

“Judy?” Charlie asked, whipping his head back and forth between Jen and Judy.

“She was changing the bed sheets!” Henry clarified, revealing that he had been behind her all along. “She’s still not very good at holding blankets.”

Charlie turned to Jen, almost pleadingly, and Jen worried if this was one inexplicable thing too many. If this was what was going to unravel it all.

Instead, Charlie asked, “Judy? You mean Henry’s imaginary friend was real?” and he had the voice of a child, one that was filled with wonder, not yet jaded by the strict rules of the physical world.

“I’d like you to meet Judy,” Jen said softly, trusting that it would all be okay. For them, finally. “She’s my— she’s my friend. Ghost friend.”

“Mine, too!” Henry added.

And when Charlie scoffed loudly, shaking his head with a smirk on his face saying “I wouldn’t have believed it. Sorry, lil’ bro,” Jen thought warmth didn’t have to come from flames. That she didn’t have to keep setting parts of herself on fire for her family to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wew. Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear some thoughts~~
> 
> Also, I wanna thank my friends for sharing their experience with some parental disillusionment. Also, to patsydecline and bgaydocrimes for talking to me about character psych, especially Charlie's.
> 
> Title of chap is from Courtney Barnett's song, "Small Poppies"
> 
> -.-. .- -. / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. . . .-.. / - .... . / ... .-.. --- .-- / -... ..- .-. -. / ... .-.. --- .-- .-.. -.-- / -... ..- .-. -. .. -. --. ..--..


	5. Just hold me down by the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jen is learning that she can pick and choose which parts of her life she can hold on to preciously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for the long delay but I really was trying to keep the chapters to about 3k words but then it got out of h a n d. Please enjoy some domestic fluff!

“It’s still fucking weird,” Charlie mumbled, standing beside Jen, a few feet away from the kitchen. They were watching as two, floating eggs were cracked on top of a bowl which was then magically lifted into the air, its contents whisked by a fork.

“Enough with the fucks, okay?” Jen chastised distractedly, still hypnotized by the scene before them. She frowned slightly as the gas range seemed to light itself. “But yeah, it is pretty weird.”

Jen turned to look at Charlie, she didn’t know if he heard the implicit questions in her voice; _is this too much? Are you okay about having her here? Is your world falling apart again and is it my fault?_

Charlie shrugged, giving her a lopsided smile. Jen allowed herself to find reassurance in that. They’re much better at communicating now, her and Charlie, even though they talk less, but it may just be because they didn’t have shouting matches as often.

“It’s kinda cool,” he said easily. “It’s like that movie, _Poltergeist_.”

Jen didn’t know if she should be worried about Charlie’s sudden interest in horror movies and what that had to do with Judy, remembering that re-watching _Scream_ with him the other night made her very uncomfortable with the multiple entry points in her house. As for Poltergeist, hopefully he at least watched the 1982 version and not the remake.

“Eh, I was thinking more _The Sorcerer’s Apprentice._ ”

Charlie looked at her confused.

“You know, the one with Mickey, and the hat, and the broom...” Jen explained as she mimed carrying two buckets on either side of her, feeling just a little stupid as Charlie simply raised an eyebrow in response.

.-- .... .- - / .- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / -.. --- .. -. --. _What are you doing?_

From the way that the clinks echoed from a spoon against a bowl, Jen could guess that Judy was watching them, very amused. Jen smiled at the direction from where it came from.

“You know, _Fantasia_ ,” Jen said as if that explained anything at all and she brought her hands up over her head to trace an imaginary cone-shaped hat.

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / ..-. .- -. - .- ... .. .- _I LOVE Fantasia._

“What’d she say?” Charlie asked, leaning back on his heels, trying to seem none too eager.

“That breakfast is ready,” Jen answered him, moving to sit on one of the stools on the island where three plates of eggs and toast were already set. “Also, for you to clean your dish afterwards.”

Judy rushed to say that, -. --- / .... . / -.. --- . ... -. - / .... .- ...- . / - --- _no, he doesn’t have to—_ at the same time that Charlie, mouth already full of bread, was telling Jen that _no, she fucking didn’t._

Henry soon joined them in the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes before he took a seat by the lower end of the table.

“I’m pretty sure you’re just putting words in her mouth,” Charlie said.

“Well you could always learn some Morse code, then maybe you’d know,” Jen argued.

“Literally, who has time for that?” Charlie answered. He exhaled deeply before adding, in a slightly mischievous voice, “I mean, I told you an Ouija board could work.”

“We are _not_ getting an Ouija board,” Jen said firmly as Charlie shoved a phone to her face, the screen showing him scrolling through online listings of secondhand boards. “Look Char, I’m not trying to invite random spirits into our home. We have Judy and that’s enough.”

The slight pang of guilt came belatedly for Jen, but it faded as soon as it did. Things were different now, she was learning to not let things build up inside her anymore.

“We aren’t going to invite anything, Mom, it’s made by _Hasbro_ ,” Charlie rolled his eyes. “It’s literally a toy.”

“Judy says if you guys don’t stop fighting we’ll all be late,” Henry interjected groggily, pushing his fork around the plate in an attempt to pick up some of the scrambled egg. The fork floated up in the air for a second so it could rearrange itself in Henry’s hand for a better hold. “Thanks.”

Jen looked at Charlie pointedly.

“Whatever,” Charlie shrugged. “I just think talking to the ghost with an Ouija board would be cooler than her leaving all those little notes around.”

“Okay, first of all, don’t call her _the ghost_ ,” Jen said, putting air quotes around the words. “She’s right here and her name is Judy. And second of all, she leaves you notes?”

“Yeah,” Charlie remarked casually, suddenly being quiet as he finished his breakfast.

“Well what do you two—” Jen started, but then Judy was laying a soft hand on her shoulder, stopping her. She thought for a moment, remembering how Judy talked extensively with Henry about the afterlife and the process of death. She wondered if maybe Charlie needed something like that, too, or maybe they were talking about something else. Maybe they were talking about things that he couldn’t bring up with Jen like games or girls— things he probably used to talk to Ted about. Or maybe they were talking about _Ted_. And that should be a frightening prospect for Jen but she found that it didn’t scare her as much as she thought it would, or as much as it would have a few months ago. After all, it was _Judy_ — and wasn’t she the first one in that house that took advantage of her lending an ear and her infinite kindness? “Anyway, no Ouija boards in this house, okay?”

“That’s too bad. Her handwriting’s kinda shit,” Charlie said and Jen lightly smacked him on the shoulder. She couldn’t scold him too much, knowing that his inability to let go of the final say and habit of downplaying the emotional significance of things were traits that he directly inherited from her. “Also, she told me you used to call her _Casper_.”

Jen shot an apologetic look to Judy (and Henry.)

Later, as Jen was washing the dishes, her sons already urged upstairs by Judy, she let herself relax into the domesticity, realizing that before Judy, she couldn’t remember a time where mornings felt like this. With Ted, the easy banter over a hearty breakfast felt like a routine that she was excluded from. She thought that was fine, so clear was the demarcation between her and Ted when it came to the roles they had in their sons’ lives, and she could content herself in watching her boys smile even if it wasn’t because she was there. Then when Ted died, she could only feel how painfully lacking she was when she couldn’t recreate that atmosphere.

She wondered if it was really okay now, how easy it was, how she had never felt more like a mother when in reality, she basically offloaded half of those duties to someone else, to Judy. But it was thanks to her that she was able to enjoy the luxury of having her boys smile like that in the morning. _Mom_ felt like a title that wasn’t so riddled with insecurity and guilt anymore, and she didn’t have to carry on feeling like an impostor.

“God, sorry my son’s a handful,” Jen said when she felt Judy return downstairs. She was rinsing the dishes on the sink.

-. --- / .... . ... / --. .-. . .- - _No, he’s great._ Judy replied, taking a broom from the supply closet to sweep at the loose crumbs that Henry let fall onto the floor.

“He is,” Jen conceded easily, knowing that Charlie could be much, much worse if he wanted to. “ _Your son_ , on the other hand, has been an absolute angel.”

The sweeping stopped abruptly and Jen didn’t notice as she was drying the dishes until Judy suddenly felt very close to her.

.- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / - .- .-.. -.- .. -. --. / .- -... --- ..- - / .... . -. .-. -.-- _Are you talking about Henry?_

_“_ Of course,” Jen answered, confused. “Who else?”

.--- . -. / - .... .- - ... / ... --- / --. . -. . .-. --- ..- ... / - .... .- - ... / - --- --- / -- ..- -.-. .... / .. / -.-. .- -. -

_Jen, that’s too generous— that’s too much— I can’t—_

“ _Please,_ Judy,” Jen said, setting down the towel and plate to reach for Judy’s hand. She could do this more confidently now, having gotten better at approximating the general location of Judy’s body parts and trusting that it won’t give under her hold, that it would remain real in her grasp. “You’re practically raising him at this point. Even Charlie, too.”

.. - ... / --- -. .-.. -.-- / -... . . -. / ---.. / -- --- -. - .... ... _It’s only been eight months, Jen._

“Yeah,” Jen laughed a little, “eight months of you pretty much holding this family together.”

.--- . -. / - .... .- - ... / -.-- --- ..- / -.-- --- ..- .-. . / .- / --. --- --- -.. / -- --- -- _Jen that’s_ you _. You’re a good mom._

With how firmly Judy was grasping her hand, she knew that it was pointless to argue.

“Maybe. I don’t know, really,” Jen sighed. “But I do know that you’ve been holding _me_ together.”

And the statement was more intimate that Jen had intended it to be, but she found that she didn’t shy away from those moments anymore, especially not with Judy. Instead, she loosened her grip on Judy’s hand so she could slowly slide hers up Judy’s arm. Jen traced her figure up to the bend of her shoulder, until she could rest her fingertips near the base of Judy’s neck. She was surprised at how she could feel her pulse against her skin, the flex of her muscles, and the tension of her tendons.

This was... uncharted territory. Jen had never really touched Judy anywhere beside her hand other than a playful push on the shoulder or the accidental brushes of their legs while they lay beside each other in bed. It was Judy who usually initiated most of their contact: resting her head on Jen’s shoulder, linking their arms together, or waking her up with a gentle touch to the face. Jen didn’t mind, she liked being reminded of how Judy was a person-shaped entity, more than something abstract. Maybe a more poetic person would have appreciated the latter. But Jen was less willing to attempt understanding the metaphysical nor analyzing her own actions as she kept her hold on Judy, than she was to just keep trying to figure out the physicality of the warmth on her hand.

“It just feels so real,” Jen said, thinking out loud. “Like I can feel a pulse and your muscles and tendons underneath and shit.”

.. - ... / -... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / .. / .- -- / .-. . .- .-.. _It’s because I am real._

“Right, of course. Sorry,” Jen said, moving her hand away even though she didn’t think that Judy was offended by her words. This was confirmed when Judy’s hand chased after hers, catching it to press it against her cheek. Jen paused, she had never touched her face before and she felt her own breathing slow at the sensation, her heart rattling in her rib cage. The moment felt more loaded than it should be, but she fought the urge to pull her hand away, letting the selfish side of her brain win out.

-.. --- . ... / .. - / ..-. . . .-.. / .-. . .- .-.. / .... . .-. . _Does it feel real here?_

“Y— yeah, it does,” Jen breathed. When she adjusted her hand, the edge of her palm, where it was met by her wrist, touched the corner of Judy’s lips. “So soft.”

Jen felt Judy’s shaky exhale and the sensation travelled up her arm until goosebumps formed at the back of her neck. She didn’t realize that Judy was speaking right away, her lips moving slightly. Jen could feel the hum in the air, the slight moistness of her lips, and the tremble shared in their bodies as Judy spoke some words, repeating them like a mantra.

But still, Jen couldn’t hear a single thing. She smiled sadly at Judy, shaking her head.

\- .... .. ... / --. . - ... / .- / .-.. .. - - .-.. . / .. -. -.-. --- -. ...- . -. .. . -. - / ... --- -- . - .. -- . ... _This gets a little inconvenient sometimes._

“I know, hon,” Jen said sympathetically, giving her cheek a final, light squeeze before retracting her arm to continue drying the dishes.

When Judy finished sweeping the area and Jen was starting to make her way upstairs, Judy called out to her.

.-- .- .. - / .. -. / ..-. .- -. - .- ... .. .- / .- -- / .. / ... ..- .--. .--. --- ... . -.. / - --- / -... . / - .... . / -... .-. --- --- -- _Wait, in Fantasia. Am I supposed to be the broom?_

Jen laughed as she climbed up the stairs, whatever imagined tension between them completely dissipated. It was great, how easy it was. But it was also starting to feel like a bad habit.

—

-.-- --- ..- / .-. . .- .-.. .-.. -.-- / -.. .. -.. -. - / .... .- ...- . / - --- / -.. .-. .. ...- . / -- . / - --- / .-- --- .-. -.- _You really didn’t have to drive me to work,_ Judy told her as they walk through the familiar hallway of the assisted living center. .-- . .-.. .-.. / .. / --. ..- . ... ... / .. - ... / -. --- - / - . -.-. .... -. .. -.-. .- .-.. .-.. -.-- / .-- --- .-. -.- / .- -. -.-- -- --- .-. . / -... ..- - / ... - .. .-.. .-.. _Well, I guess, it’s not technically work anymore. But, still._

“Well I’m sure it beats you having to go all the way over here by... floating?” Jen said, unsure. Judy had explained before that it was like _walking on multiple planes of reality_ or something she couldn’t even begin to understand. “Actually no, that sounds super fun. Sorry.”

Judy bumped her shoulder into hers playfully and as Jen tried to not make it so obvious to other people that she was interacting with some invisible force, she thought about how earlier, the boys automatically sat in the backseat of the car so Judy could ride shotgun beside Jen.

“Glad to see the both of you again,” Abe greeted them right outside the activity room and they walked over to Abe’s regular area where Jen, in her multiple visits, had found herself a usual seat.

“They’re much more welcoming now that I actually have a name to say when I’m visiting,” Jen smiled at him.

“Well it’s good for me, too. Seeing me with you helps them breathe easy since it doesn’t look like I’m talking to the air,” Abe laughed. “But I think the others are starting to get jealous of me being visited by such a lovely lady often.”

“Ah, well. I’m always on my best behavior while I’m here,” Jen said and she could feel Judy excitedly stir around the room.

“You’re fine as you are,” Abe reassured her. “It’s _that_ one who needs to tone it down. She’s starting to make the staff nervous.”

“Do they think they’re being haunted?”

Abe leaned forward conspiratorially, “Rumor has it, this place used to be an asylum.”

“That— that literally doesn’t make sense,” Jen said in humored disbelief. “This place was built in _2006_.”

Abe laughed heartily.

“Good year,” he said fondly. Jen remembered scenes from hers: Charlie as a toddler, a marriage on the fringes of exciting and new, and the struggle of trying to figure out the ropes of a new career path. It was a lot of things happening at once.

“It was,” Jen agreed as she realized that year in Abe’s life was probably as complicated as hers. She could remember the good and bad but she knew now that there is no point in retroactive resentment. A year could just be a number and she was starting to learn that she could pick and choose which parts of it she would hold on to preciously.

Judy returned to them, a buzz in the air.

.--- . -. / .- -... . / -.. --- / -.-- --- ..- / - .... .. -. -.- / .. / -.-. .- -. / --. . - / .- .-- .- -.-- / .-- .. - .... / .--. .- .. -. - .. -. --. / .- / .-.. .. - - .-.. . _Jen, Abe! Do you think I can get away with painting a little?_

Abe hummed, noncommittal.

.--- ..- ... - / .- / .-.. .. - - .-.. . _Just a little._

Jen looked around for a moment before answering, “You might wanna stay away from the color red.”

Jen left before lunch because of a showing she needed to do with Christopher. It was for a couple that was all but basically in love with the house so it had been smooth sailing for them. It helped, too, that they weren’t a pair of insufferable bigots like the last people she had to deal with. Maybe a bit pretentious but nothing so out-of-touch to horribly piss her off. And keeping her anger in check was something she had all but mastered now, anyway. At least for work.

“Jen the Closer, I see,” Chris whispered to her while they smiled and waved the couple off as they drove away in their car. Jen had mixed feelings about the nickname now, she liked being good at her job but with the things that she found out about Ted, she felt her whole life being casted in a different light. She was still working on that. Chris wrapped one arm around her shoulder. “We’ve been doing _good_ these past two months, Jen. And you seem okay.”

“I am,” she answered honestly, now able to without being offended at the insinuation that she wasn’t.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you met somebody.”

“Wh— what?”

“You know, fallen in love,” Chris said, looking at her carefully. “But I haven’t seen anyone new in your life and I’ve stalked your Facebook, so...”

Jen shrugged, “There’s no one to introduce.”

It wasn’t a complete lie even if Christopher didn’t look like he was convinced, but he had more pressing, dog-related matters to attend to so he dropped the subject. Although Jen doubted that it was the last time he would bring it up.

Later, in the dim of her office during sunset, she was alone since it was her turn to draw up the paperwork. Suddenly, her phone vibrated loud on her desk, cutting through the silence of the room. Jen felt a little delirious when she looked at the screen and saw that she had a text from Ted.

_Just checking in_ _ **💜**_

She all but flung the device to the other side of the room. But the second vibration arrived soon after, echoing more ominously than the first.

_OMG_. _It’s Judy, btw!_

Gathering her bearings, Jen grabbed the phone and began typing aggressively into the keyboard.

**Ok, what the hell??**

****

The next few texts came in quick succession.

_Sorry!_

_Charlie left the phone charging in the room_

_He said I should give it a try_

_I mean, he left a note_

_Sorry for texting you out of nowhere!_

Jen breathed a heavy sigh, relaxing a little bit back into her body. But her eyes couldn’t help but get drawn to the start of her last text that wasn’t for Judy: **You’re really not gonna answer, Ted?**

**No, no. Don’t apologize. I was just surprised. Did you see anything?**

_Huh_

_No..._

_What do you mean?_

_Oh_

_Shit_

_Was this Ted’s?_

Jen wished Judy would just say everything in one go, each notification was sending her on a minor tailspin. But she watched as her messages took over the screen, eating up the old ones until only the last line was visible: **...then don’t ever come back fuck face!**

_I’m so sorry_

_Charlie wiped everything_

_I didn’t think about where it came from_

_I should’ve guessed, Jen_

_I’m so sorry_

_I should stop_

Jen tried not to think about what Charlie could have seen, that was something she could save for later.

**No Judy, don’t. It’s okay. This is great for you! You seem very excited.**

_I am :(_

_Is that ok?_

**Of course. I think it’s a good thing. Charlie’s kind of a genius.**

_He is :)_

_So..._

_Can I ask you to get some basil and tomatoes on the way home?_

Jen couldn’t help but smile at how unnecessary that second text was.

**Sure, I’m gonna leave soon.**

**** _Thanks!_

_Drive safely_ _**💜** _

Jen didn’t think much of it as she sent a heart back (just a pink one, for her.) But she could still feel herself trembling at the entire interaction. Before she could decide against it, she scrolled up quickly through her message history. She sped past the texts of that night, not stopping through the messages of the months before that, of evidences of their daily mundanity and crumbling marriage. She kept going until she caught a flash of a buzzword.

_I love you, baby._

**I love you, too. Now go pick up the cake for Henry.**

The phone felt heavy in her hand and she contemplated on deleting everything, wondering if that was an easy way to get rid of the weight. She decided against it, feeling like there might be a few things she would want to save, maybe pictures of the boys. But that was for future Jen to sort through. In the meantime, she clicked on the name at the top of the screen and went through the motions of editing the contact information. She replaced the name with Judy’s.

—

Arriving home with the aforementioned items, Judy whipped them up a quick pasta dinner as they had easy conversations about the kids’ days. Jen, more than once, instinctively told Charlie to stop using his phone on the table to which he countered that _she_ was on her phone. Jen replied that texting Judy was _different_ and it didn’t count.

“Well then I’m texting Judy, too,” Charlie said and the phone in front of Judy’s seat vibrated on time. He smiled triumphantly. Jen made a face at him and the dinner ended with Henry begging for his own phone.

After the meal, when Henry had been effectively put to bed, Jen fetched herself a bottle, ready to end her day as she usually did, resting on her bed with wine in her glass as she and Judy talked about one thing or the other. An easy contentment hung in the air and Jen was never sure if she deserved it, but she learned to lean into it, anyway. That night, however, Judy stopped her.

.-.. . - ... / -.-. . .-.. . -... .-. .- - . _Let’s celebrate!_

“Celebrate what?”

-.-- --- ..- / ..-. .. -. .- .-.. .. --.. . -.. / .- / ... .- .-.. . / - --- -.. .- -.-- / .-. .. --. .... - _You finalized a sale today, right?_

“Well not exactly, but it’s basically a done deal—“

_\- .... . -. / .-- . ...- . / --. --- - / - --- / -.-. . .-.. . -... .-. .- - .Then we’ve got to celebrate!_

“Doesn’t this count?” Jen asked, gesturing towards the wine bottle.

-.-. -- --- -. / .-.. . - ... / -.. --- / ... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. / -.. .. ..-. ..-. . .-. . -. - / -.-. .... . -.-. -.- / -.-- --- ..- .-. / -... .- --. _C’mon let’s do something different. Check your bag._

Jen looked at her suspiciously before walking over to the living room to rifle through her bag.

.. -. / - .... . / .--. --- -.-. -.- . - _In the pocket._

“What the fuck is this?” Jen exclaimed, pulling out a thickly rolled joint. “Have I been carrying this in my bag the whole day?”

.. - ... / .-.. . --. .- .-.. / .-. . .-.. .- -..- _It’s legal, relax._

“How did this even get here?” Jen asked in a frantic whisper. She heard Judy begin to tap out her explanation but she gave up, and Jen spotted the phone on the table light up.

_I had Abe sneak it in your bag earlier_ , her own phone chimed.

“ _Abe_? He’s your dealer?”

_He’s not my dealer!_

_It’s his medication!_

_He was like part of this really old government experimental health care thing_

_Anyway, he gets a bunch of it basically for free_

_And sometimes he shares with the folks in the facility_

“Oh, so he’s not just _your_ dealer.”

_He’s not selling!_

“Is he even allowed to do that?”

_Jennnn, c’mon..._

Jen pursed her lips, considering. It _was_ legal. And it wasn’t like she was a narc or anything.

“I’m just not— not really a drugs person.”

_It’s not drugs. It’s a plant._

Jen sighed, giving in, “Okay, but not in the house.”

That was how they ended up on the beach, sharing a blanket as Jen lit the joint. She placed it between her lips and took a deep inhale, breathing in twice for the smoke to reach her lungs.

Her phone chimed, _Um. You totally smoke pot._

Jen couldn’t help but laugh as the smoke exited her body in a few coughs.

“All right. I did with Ted, but it’s... I mean, it’s been years,” she admitted. At her mention of Ted’s name, she couldn’t help but look at the phone resting on the blanket on top of Judy’s lap. She watched as Judy opened the messaging app, she saw the _sorry_ before it even reached her phone. “I wonder how this looks like to people. Like I’m doing a really stupid magic trick.”

_Or performance art._

“Of what? Widowed Madonna and the Holy Ghost?”

_That..._

_Actually sounds pretty good_

_You should write that down_

“Shut up,” Jen lightly smacked Judy’s knee, leaving her hand there as she took another deep puff.

_No, I’m serious_

_I didn’t realize you had that in you_

“Please,” Jen said, exhaling. “Even I had to take an art history class or two.”

Jen turned to look at the phone again but she got distracted by a hand print on the sand. It was Judy’s she realized, and she guessed her hand was still there, with the way the tamped-down grains were still crumbling slightly at her weight. It seemed like one of the many things that reminded Jen of how fully Judy still experienced the world, of how real her presence was, not just to her. She was still part of everything and Jen could be a witness to that firsthand.

Guided by the mark on the sand, she rested her own hand on top of Judy’s, letting her fingers fall between hers. Jen grasped at her and Judy allowed her hand to be pulled in.

“Thank you,” Jen said shyly, as if she hadn’t been saying it every day.

_For what?_

“Jesus, _everything_ ,” Jen told her honestly. “Eight months’ worth of everything.”

_Thank you, too_

_For the same_

Jen began playing with the fingers on her lap, tracing the invisible lines and pressing on each knuckle.

“You’re— you’re so warm,” Jen said, squeezing the whole thing. “It’s just— I can’t believe you’re here. It’s a little like... _whoa_ , a ghost. But then, you’re much more than that, you know?”

_You’re so high_

Jen laughed, “I’m _so_ high. I’m sure my tolerance went down.” Still grasping Judy’s hand, Jen rested her head on her shoulder.

_Are you usually this touchy when you’re high?_

“Mm,” Jen hummed.

_I like it_

“Judayyy,” Jen said, nuzzling into Judy’s neck. She could feel her laughing, a soundless mirth. The haze in her brain was loosening her lips. “I wish I was a kid again.”

_For the innocence of youth?_

_Or a redo?_

“Just... so I can hear you, like Henry does,” Jen admitted. “So I could _see_ you.”

There was a long pause before her phone chimed again.

_I have an idea_

Judy pulled away, catching Jen as she fell a little to her side.

_Close your eyes and hold out your hand_

Jen wanted to ask questions, but in her stoned state, she found that she was more susceptible to following suggestions obediently. Closing her eyes, she did as Judy said.

Judy took both of Jen’s hands, bringing it to her face, similar to how it was that morning when Judy asked her if she felt real. If she asked, Jen would answer the same— it felt so, so real. Realer than before, with her eyes closed, realer than staring into a blank space between her palms.

With taps on her arm, Judy told her, -.-- --- ..- / -.-. .- -. / - .-. -.-- / - --- / ... . . / -- . / .-.. .. -.- . / - .... .. ... _you can try to see me like this._

She nodded, tentatively moving her thumb across Judy’s cheek bones, feeling the soft skin against the ridges. Jen traced the arch of her nose, the lines of her smile, subconsciously looking for the sensations that pictures could never justify. It was working, she thought, her mental image of Judy gaining depth, even of things that felt beyond sight and touch. Maybe the crossing of wires in her brain, the overlapping of senses, were simply caused by the weed. Maybe it was also the reason why Jen couldn’t stop herself from speaking when her thumb landed on Judy’s bottom lip, as she felt it get caught in a slight pull.

“I think I want to kiss you,” Jen whispered, eyes still closed, and she couldn’t help but imagine how that would feel exactly.

Jen heard a breath hitch, then, “ _You’re so high_.”

“I must be,” Jen replied with a lazy smile. “Cause I think I just heard you say that I was high.”

“Jen,” Judy said, her voice suddenly dropping low. “I did. Jen. Jen.”

“Shit,” Jen said, her brain working hard to catch up.

“Can you hear me?”

“ _I can_.”

“Jen, you can hear me!” Judy squealed excitedly. “Jen, Jen, Jen, it’s me, Judy. It’s my voice. Hi!”

Jen focused on the sound, a completely brand new sound, but at the same time, strangely familiar, as if it had been running like white noise in the background this whole time. But now Jen could hear it clearly, so dynamic, high and excited and full of life. It had an unexpected huskiness to it that she couldn’t help but get caught up in, almost swaying her head at the cadence of it.

“Jen,” Judy laughed at her antics and Jen could welcome that sound to ring in her ears forever. “You’re so fucking high.”

Jen removed her hands from Judy’s face, slowly opening her eyes.

“It’s your fault— _shit_ ,” Jen couldn’t help but gasp. Judy’s expression falls to a worried look and Jen actually _saw_ her face unfold through that change. She whispered, “ _Fuck_ , maybe the ayahuasca moms were onto something.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Judy asked worriedly. At Jen’s lack of response, she made a motion to reach for the phone but Jen chased after her hand, dragging it back between the both of them.

“No, Jude, I can hear you fine,” she said, couldn’t help but be absolutely _awed_ and she could just guess how that sounded like with the combination of her being high as fuck. “I can see you.”

“What?” Judy asked, although understanding was slowly starting to seep through her expression and Jen could see her try to fight a smile. “Like, _see_ see me?”

“Yes!”

Judy lifted a hand in front of Jen’s face, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three, you idiot,” Jen told her even though she was probably the one who was smiling stupid. She, pulled Judy’s arm down, wanting to stare at her face unobstructed.

“What do I look like?” Judy asked, both shy and basking under Jen’s unabashed gaze.

“Uh, fucking beautiful,” Jen answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. But at the same time, the word seemed painfully insufficient. Jen felt like something that she had been looking at in black and white static suddenly got restored into full color. And she never even knew what exactly she was missing until she saw it all laid out before her. Still, Judy took the compliment in full, smiling wildly as Jen couldn’t help but bring her hands back to cup her face. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“I’m happy, too,” Judy replied and Jen could see something shifting back and forth in her eyes as she repeated her earlier actions from before, tracing the curves of her face. Jen indulged in it, it felt exactly the same as before but also almost unrecognizably different. Judy opened her mouth again, in a quiet voice she said, “ _Jen._ ”

“You look...” Jen started, frowning at herself as she looked deep into Judy’s searching eyes. Her thumb returned to her lip. “You look like you want to be kissed.”

When Judy moved her mouth to speak, it felt familiar, an echo from this morning. Except this time, she could hear the words, could discern what they mean.

_Kiss me_.

Jen lunged forward, unhesitating now, with the hands on Judy’s face ready to guide her own lips to Judy’s. When they make contact, it felt like a confirmation of something, of Judy, that she was something real, or _beyond_ that. She was something _true_. Maybe the only cosmic truth Jen could ever believe in.

Judy fell back into the sand, Jen following her, not breaking away as she pushed her tongue inside Judy’s mouth to taste her. She felt arms wrap around her neck and she heard Judy moan into her mouth— Jen had the distinct thought that she would probably never, ever get tired of that sound. She kissed her harder, hands grasping her where she can, needing more contact and she wondered if there was a way to never have to let go of Judy, to never miss a sound she makes, to never lose sight of her again.

But then Judy pushed her away carefully.

“Jen,” she said softly and Jen thought of how many ways she could make Judy say her name. “You’re crying.”

“God,” Jen said, sitting up and wiping her eyes. “For some reason, this always happens when I get high.”

“You probably shouldn’t have anymore,” Judy said, smiling at her fondly. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

Jen looked at Judy, face flushed, hair mussed, and panting slightly. She caught the slight swell on her lips. All of it was caused by her. It was okay, Judy wasn’t going to disappear.

“Okay,” Jen said, letting herself be pulled up to her feet.

“Great outfit to die in, right?” Judy asked, hand in hers, and Jen couldn’t help but wonder how the mundanity of watching Judy in her peripheral vision, listening to her talk, as they walk back to the car, could all feel so precious.

“You’re ridiculous,” Jen replied but she nodded appreciatively when Judy gave her a spin to show off her clothes.

“You love me, anyway,” Judy quipped cheekily, automatically.

“I think I do,” Jen answered honestly and it was embarrassing but it was worth it to see the blush that flared on Judy’s cheeks.

“You’re pretty high, maybe you shouldn’t drive.”

“Are _you_ volunteering? So I could pretend that I have one of those self-driving cars?”

“ _Jen_ ,” she said, amused. “I just meant—”

“Did you forget that you _are_ only just visible to me?” Jen laughed before frowning. “And I guess, maybe to also every child and stoner in Laguna.”

Later in bed, where they exchanged a few more meaningful kisses, Jen drifted off to sleep as the form of Judy began to fade before her eyes. She tried not to panic, reminding herself that the sensation pressed up against her wouldn’t go away. It was barely enough to stave off a nightmare.

—

Jen knocked a couple of times on Abe’s open door before leaning against the frame.

“Sorry Abe, I came to steal Judy early. I figured we could do some grocery shopping before dinner,” Jen informed him. “Is she out there?”

“Oh no, sweetheart,” Abe answered. “She already left.”

“Really?” Jen asked, frowning. Judy hadn’t sent her a message.

Abe sighed.

“I think she’s with that asshole, Steve.”

Jen froze at the name.

“What?” she choked out. “Steve? She— she found him?”

“A week ago.”

“Oh,” Jen said simply, a million thoughts were running through her head. She uncomfortably shifted the weight on her feet.

“You knew where he was, didn’t you?” Abe asked carefully. “All this time.”

Jen wondered what kind of face she was making, how obvious her expression was. But Abe looked back at her as kindly as ever, no space for judgement in his eyes.

“I... I did,” Jen admitted, eyes downcast. She felt the hurt from Judy keeping this fact from her but it was obvious that she deserved it. She was very familiar with the sensation of pain mixed with guilt.

“Well,” Abe said, “He might wake up soon. At least, that’s what Judy told me.”

Jen’s arms unconsciously wrapped around herself, attempting to hold herself steady.

“I’ll get going now,” she said, “I’ll pick her up.”

Abe nodded at her like what she said was a good idea. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was.

On the way to the hospital, she remembered how she had first seen Steve. She stood over his unconscious body as the beep of the monitors and the hum of the respirator filled the room. She had waited for a sort of forgiveness to spring upon her, for something profound to break into her heart. But all she could feel was a deep, deep resentment even if he wasn’t the driver. Her husband didn’t even get the chance to fight for his life on a hospital bed.

The first time she had seen him, she could only think of how he had been a part of something that had taken everything from her. She wondered if he would be, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! This chapter was basically an intermission (a 6.5k word one, I guess) since we're going into the Judy arc of this fic! E x c i t i n g.
> 
> \- i do think that Judy is the type of person who sends multiple messages at a time  
> \- chapter inspired by Judy Hale/Linda Cardellini's face. Congratulations on having that face.  
> \- i do know that federally-funded marijuana is a thing
> 
> Chapter title from Mazzy Star's "Bells Ring"
> 
> \-- .- -.- . / --- ..- - / ... . ... ... .. --- -. -.-.-- -.-.-- / .. / - --- .-.. -.. / -.-- --- ..- / --. ..- -.-- ... / .. .----. .-.. .-.. / -- .- -.- . / .. - / .-- --- .-. -.- -.-.-- -.-.--

**Author's Note:**

> ghost!playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2YVdeLXLgxXmNMoiJMWij1?si=CH5im-zhR3ysyYBAqwGpaw
> 
> Twitter: @aprilopenmybill
> 
> Curious Cat: aprilopenmybill


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